


A Heart To Love

by SoDoLaFaMiDoRe



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Blood and Gore, Curses, Falling In Love, Heartless!Jaskier, M/M, Murder, Nongraphic descriptions of torture, Spirits, Towns with a dark secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/pseuds/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe
Summary: Geralt stumbles across a contract in a town with a secret, tied to a bard with no heart and the mysterious festival at Midsummer.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 114
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	A Heart To Love

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone in the Discord for encouragement, memes, and a bright spot during these rough times! It has taken a lot to get this story to paper so I just want to shout out the mods for making such a great thing for us to do during these times!
> 
> My artist [Magicalplaylist](https://magicalplaylist.tumblr.com) has created the most GORGEOUS PIECE OF ART for this fic and I adore it and I need you all to shower them with ALL THE LOVE!!!!!
> 
> PLEASE heed the tags, and I hope you enjoy!

As Roach moved towards the small town, Geralt read the notice again. It had been spread much wider than other contracts. Considering it paid handsomely and did not reference the creature, Geralt knew this would be a tougher contract. But it was more money than he had been paid in the past year combined, so he couldn’t turn the offer down. As he crossed the border into the town, he felt eyes on him. It wasn’t uncommon, as a Witcher, and the hush never preceded a warm welcome.

As he made his way to the inn, to set up Roach and find his contact who set the bounty, the eerie silence stretched on. The peasants were wary, but as he moved slowly and deliberately they too went back to their tasks of day to day life. Coming up on the inn, he dismounted Roach to see to her needs. Once she was safe in the stable, the stableboy paid to take care of her, he made his way to the inn.

Now, the sound of a bard had been loud enough as he approached, people eating and drinking their midday meal as they sang along, but as he entered a hush fell over the room. The bard turned to look at him, see what had interrupted his performance, and he smiled genially. But there was something wrong, it set Geralt’s hackles on edge. The Witcher scanned the room, attempting to see if he could make out who made the contract

“I’m here to speak to the Alderman, about a contract.” He held out the paper, slightly worn from his travel. The bard glanced to it, back to Geralt, and not once did his expression shift.

“The Alderman will be in the last house, down the road, to the right. Can’t miss it.” OK, Geralt would admit he wasn’t the best with humans. But even he, someone who faced monsters for a living, felt better upon turning his back from the bard and leaving the room. The sound of singing and a lute starting up again as he walked away. He couldn’t place what was wrong with the man, but he needed the coin. Perhaps the contract had something to do with him?

The Alderman was proving useless. He was not the one to set out the contract, merely entrusted he would pass along information to whichever Witcher came to town. He tried to insist the spirit, Rhandon, was harmless. Just a benevolent being who watched over the town and aided them in the harvest. The tribute had been simple to appease them. They even dedicated their Midsummer festival to them, there was no trouble.

“And of the bard?” Geralt asked, hoping the Alderman would have answers.

The Alderman blanched, quickly recovering though Geralt could smell the nervousness he tried to hide. “We do not speak of the bard, but Jaskier is harmless. He merely comes here at Midsummer to take care of personal matters.” Considering the fear that laced the Alderman’s tone, that did not improve Geralt’s mood. He did not enjoy a contract he was walking into blind, and a town with a secret only entailed disaster would follow.

Geralt puzzled out how best to deal with the town’s patron as he made his way back to the inn. The bard, Jaskier, did not stop his music or singing even as the tavern once again stilled. The townsfolk regarded Geralt warily, but as a lively tune was picked out they soon ignored the stranger in the corner. Well, most did. Except the odd bard, who stole furtive glances. As Geralt finally got his ale and food, of fucking course that would be the time the bard walked over to disturb him.

“Ah, and what brings you to our humble town, stranger?” Jaskier stared him down, and Geralt finally realized what had struck him as odd. His medallion was  _ humming _ in the presence of the bard. Geralt glared at the bard as he reached for a dagger.

“I wouldn’t suggest that, if I were you.” The bard’s tone was still light, yet he didn’t look Geralt in the eye. He had an air that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but Geralt’s training and decades of travel had told him looks could be deceiving. Especially considering the Alderman’s fear when discussing him. “Running me through with a dagger won’t help you deal with your little spirit trouble.”

“What are you?” Geralt looked for any tell on the bard, but he was just met with that same smile. The bard took a seat at his table, reaching for an ale that was hastily placed in front of him. 

“Jaskier the Bard, at your service Mister-?” He inflicted his tone up, a question for Geralt’s name.

Cautiously, Geralt gave him his name. The bard nodded at that, and sipped at his ale. “Well, it’ll be nice to have a Witcher to take care of them. They’ve been plaguing this town far too long.” And wasn’t that adding to the oddity of Jaskier. He looked to be barely in his twenties, yet his tone belied a man weary of the world and all he had seen.

“Jaskier, what do you know of this spirit?” The bard’s smile finally faltered, settling into a neutral position. Geralt wasn’t sure which option he preferred.

“Rhandon took something from me. I come back here at Midsummer to try to reclaim it.” His tone was even, for someone who appeared to have lost more than a small trinket. As the patrons of the tavern filtered out, the noise abated and Geralt focused his senses more on Jaskier. Only to find a lack of information from the bard. He smelled of soap, yes, but nothing else. Not intrigue, not fear, nor any other emotion.

When Geralt made eye contact with the other, everything finally clicked. Jaskier, he was a dead man walking… or, something like that, as he wasn’t rotting and decayed. His eyes were dull, barely registering the different stimuli around himself. His smiles were plastered on like a doll. Even for a hardened Witcher, it unnerved him deeply. As he strained his ears, he couldn’t hear a heartbeat. 

“You lost your heart.”

“Lost, stolen, semantics. I’ll be here at the inn until the Midsummer festival, then off to the next adventure. I’ll double your reward if you kill that thing before the dawn after Midsummer. In the meantime, do tell me of your journeys. I’ve been needing new material, and you seem like just the man.” Geralt sighed, sipping his ale. He couldn’t even scare the man off, or bore him. He’d just have to do what he asked, that would rid him of the bard quicker.

After a few dry recounts of some of his newer adventures, where he got his coin and left, the bard nodded. “Well, this has been enlightening. I assume you’re staying here until the spirit is gone?” Geralt grunted at that, which Jaskier took for a “yes”.

“We’ll be seeing each other around then, Geralt.” With a bow, the dead-eyed bard left, and Geralt wondered just what in the fuck he had gotten himself into.

\----

Waking up in the inn, Geralt thought of the contract. There were only seven days until Midsummer, and he had a feeling Jaskier would be a gadfly throughout. Not for any personal reasons, that was clear, but because stories were what put a bard in the spotlight. And even without his heart, it was clear by his fine dress and finer instrument he was used to court life and the luxury of it.

His stomach growled, pulling him from his thoughts. He was hungry, and if he was going to wander around the woods in the general area a spirit would live, he needed to eat something. Walking down the stairs, there were very few in the tavern below the inn. Besides, of course, the bard. He was bent over a book, and judging by the intense concentration as he fiddled with the strings on his lap, he was writing. At the clunk on Geralt’s boots on the stairs, the Witcher not bothering with stealth in an inn, the bard looked at him.

That gaze was still disconcerting, as Jaskier looked through him, registered he was in the room, and went back to his book. Geralt had a feeling if he wanted clearer information of the spirit, Jaskier would be the best bet. Sitting opposite the other, the bard didn’t look from where he was writing. “So, off to gather information on Rhandon? I’ll be going with you.” That gave Geralt pause. Who in the world did this bard think he was that he could tag along with a Witcher?

“No.”

“You don’t know these woods like I do.” The bard retorted, with no power or bite behind his words.

“You’ll slow me down.”

“You’ll never find their altar.”

“There’s an altar?” Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache begin behind his eyes. That damned alderman hadn’t mentioned an altar of all things.

“Yes. And I can take you to it. On the way, you’ll tell me more stories. I’ve already turned the ones you gave me to music.” Oh, here was the headache. Geralt was already an outcast, he didn’t need to be made a mockery of through the medium of song.

Jaskier was content to focus on his lyrics as Geralt tore into stale bread and smoked fish, the entire meal tasting as if he was eating pure salt. Washing it down with ale that tasted like it had been cut with bathwater, Jaskier stopped his writing as Geralt stood up.

“Time for you to meet Rhandon. Good timing too, I need to take a piss.” Geralt just looked at the other, who if he read his words properly, was going to piss on the altar of the spirit who took his heart. Blinking, Geralt chugged the last of his ale, he would need it. Off they went, Geralt deciding against taking Roach. The walk wasn’t too far, according to Jaskier, and Geralt was used to leaving his horse behind.

Once they were out of ear-shot of the village, Jaskier continued his earlier questioning of Geralt on his monster hunting. He mainly asked academic questions, only asking for more emotional parts when he was working on a rhyme. Jaskier didn’t care how Geralt felt in regards to a Harpy cutting his back open, he just needed it to fit the meter of the song. It was deeply odd for Geralt to hear someone who didn’t have much of an opinion on Witchers. Or the rest of the world, for that matter. Sure, he interacted with it, but nothing made a lasting impact on him.

Such as when he discussed a previous patron. “Oh, the Countess de Stael was in love with me. I don’t know why she thought she was the one who could restore my heart, but she wasn’t happy I couldn’t give her what she wanted. It took six months for me to find an opening to leave the dungeon.”

“The dungeon?” Geralt intoned, raising an eyebrow at Jaskier. The bard continued unperturbed.

“Oh, I pleased the Countess. I wrote songs extolling her beauty and virtues, I was a maestro in her chambers, and I kept the court entertained. But she didn’t like my eyes. Didn’t like that I didn’t derive passion or joy from being near her. So I was sent to the dungeon, and when the threat of torture didn’t work she turned to actual torture.” His tone was light and even, as if he was recounting what he had eaten for dinner the night before. “Just the normal things the nobles do. First banning food and drink, then stringing me up and hitting me. At the end she got a little more creative and used the thumbscrews, it took me six weeks to finally be healed of that after escape.”

Geralt was not a stranger to torture, but he also tended to pride himself on the fact he was hardy and resilient enough to face what most of the nobility in the Kingdoms could throw at him. But this bard, he had no emotions based on what happened to him. Sneaking a furtive glance, Geralt could see the scar on his thumb that proved the truth of the bard’s story. His face was blank, and there was no smell that he honestly cared he had been tortured.

“Ah here we are.” Jaskier pointed to a circle of stones, with an odd ivy winding around the circle. Geralt could sense the magic in the air, and reached to grab the back of Jaskier’s doublet before he entered the clearing. The bard looked over at him, then back to the circle. It seemed even the human could feel the magic that was beginning to build in the air. Geralt squinted, tightening his grip on Jaskier’s doublet as a breeze blew in the clearing.

It circled the stones, picking up dirt and pebbles as Geralt and Jaskier had to cover their eyes from the stinging dirt. When the wind finally died, Geralt looked back to the stones, to see a figure standing in the middle of the circle. They were gorgeous, keen eyes and a sharp smile. “Ah, hello Jaskier.” They eyed the bard, ignoring the witcher in their midst to beckon him closer.

“Here to finally accept my offer my dear? It’s been what, thirty years?” Rhadon’s smile was nothing but teeth, and Geralt felt Jaskier shift in his hold, to face the spirit.

“I don’t know what offer you’re talking about!” Jaskier responded, and Geralt could still sense nothing from the other. Rhandon was taken aback at that, but seemed to notice the Witcher in their midst. Their eyes narrowed into a glare as they noticed his medallion and gold eyes. “Ah, a Witcher. I never thought I’d see one in the flesh. I assume you’re looking for this?” With a flourish, a bleeding human heart was in Rhadon’s hand. It dripped crimson, beating faster as Jaskier laid eyes on it.

“Give it back!” Jaskier was on the apparition in an instant, a dagger pulled from who knows where jabbing wildly as he stabbed at the semi-solid being. They melted into the dirt with a laugh, Jaskier left with a cry of rage torn from his throat as he stabbed his dagger in the ground. His shoulders heaved, his entire frame trembling until it became eerily still. When he turned around, there was no trace of his outburst of emotion besides the lingering scent of adrenaline in the air. “Well…” he trailed off, looking at Geralt. It was probably the only true emotion the witcher had seen from the other, and it was gone.

Geralt investigated the altar, a stone circle that appeared to be swept clear by the winds. The ivy was natural, but it all reeked of magic. Jaskier contented himself with standing nearby, watching Geralt poke and prod the stones. They were only the size of his fist, but no matter how he tried to shift them they stayed firmly in place. When he gleaned all the information he could, it was time to go back to town. Rhandon didn’t show as Geralt finished his inspection.

They didn’t speak on what they saw in the woods. Geralt was still processing the shift as Jaskier once again lost his connection to his heart. As they approached town, Jaskier went back to smiling, but now that he knew what to look for Geralt could see the unnerving edges. The deadness of his eyes was the only clear give-away, and probably a reason Jaskier never held gazes with his adoring crowds.

The dagger was once again hidden, and Jaskier called out for a nearby peasant he knew about some banal topic it was clear the bard didn’t care the answer to. Geralt had been told, by many, that Witchers didn’t have feelings. Sometimes, he thought he could convince himself he didn’t feel anything. But seeing someone who truly didn’t sent a chill down his spine.

\----

The next day, the alderman was still cagey in speaking to Geralt, especially with Jaskier in his presence. Any questions on Rhandon were deflected, and Geralt was quickly losing his patience. “Tell me alderman, if you didn’t want this Rhandon dealt with by a witcher, why was a fucking notice sent out?”

The alderman looked to Jaskier, who was still as a statue, leaning against the wall of the alderman’s house. His face was a mask of serenity, as if a benevolent god carved from stone. The alderman was cowed, beginning to shake as Jaskier locked gazes with him.

“I sent out the notice.” Jaskier cut in, keeping the alderman’s gaze. “Once a year, at midsummer, I regain my emotions. I gave the alderman most of my gold and the notice to hire a witcher to deal with Rhandon, while I still had the ability to care.” Geralt, long used to the habit, subtly scented the air for any hint of a lie. It took the stench of the alderman to remind him Jaskier didn’t give off any scents related to human emotions.

The alderman attempted to regain his composure, looking away from Jaskier as he gathered himself. As he began to open his mouth, his body language easily told Geralt he was about to slip into a lie. “Well you see, with Rhandon-”

His excuses didn’t concern Geralt. It was known among Witchers that some towns made deals with spirits or other entities to help ensure prosperity or some other good fortune for the town. Unless asked for help, or if it was causing more trouble than it was worth, most Witchers did not involve themselves with the town’s affairs. Geralt was not most Witchers, although he had the feeling no matter his choice he was not going to prove a popular man in the town.

And that proved true here as well. Jaskier’s face was impartial as the alderman explained how the bard had accidentally been cursed by Rhandon, heart taken in an accident when sadly, terribly, it should have been one of their own. There was something wrong in his tone, but Geralt couldn’t puzzle out his lie. He could only run under the assumption this town didn’t discuss their deal with outsiders, and the Alderman was a bundle of nerves with a Witcher in his presence.

With no other information to be gleaned, Geralt knew he was only going to waste his time continuing to deal with the Alderman. Walking out of the man’s house, he heard footsteps as Jaskier followed behind. The bard hadn’t said much, leaving most of the talking to the others. “The Alderman says I got caught up, but to be honest I don’t remember. One moment, I’m a happy man in the arms of a beautiful person, the next day I wake up as what you see before you.”

If Geralt was a stupider man, he would ask how that made Jaskier feel. But it was clear every experience was dry, factual information for the bard. Not torture, not loss, nor the threat of dying could get a rise from him. The only thing that had elicited a reaction was the sight of his own, bloody heart, but curses were fickle things.

“Does anyone else in this town know of Rhandon?” There, a much simpler, more useful line of wondering than the thoughts of a man who experienced nothing.

“From what I know, most of the townsfolk know of Rhandon, but the Alderman knows the most. He isn’t willing to help you any more than he has, he didn’t put out the contract.” And that was going to make Geralt’s time here much harder. The town itself didn’t want to give up their protector.

Towns that prospered from these deals, they didn’t like outsiders changing things. Even if stopping Rhandon would save lives, the towns would lose their guarantee of safety and comfort. And for some places, they wanted that more than anything else. Geralt needed to know how this deal started, in order to end it. Jaskier himself, for his knowledge, was still an outsider here as well. At one merely tolerated, for fear of what a man with no moral compass could do.

\----

The next few days were fruitless. Geralt would try to glean information from the town, and be met with hard stares and mum lips. Jaskier gave the information he could, but his memory surrounding the incident was non-existent. It gave Geralt no clues as to how he lived without a heart or the exact magic that tied him to Rhandon.

Finally, dawn broke on Midsummer. The longest day of the year, and the day it appeared the town would keep their end of the promise with Rhandon. There was a knock on Geralt’s door shortly after sunrise. Geralt held a dagger behind his back, scenting the air as he got to the door. Most places that tolerated a witcher still didn’t knock. Grip firm on the handle, Geralt opened the door to see Jaskier standing outside, and froze. 

He looked different. His face was flushed, his smile was wide and welcoming, and  _ oh. _ The scent of apples filled his nose, and a quick thump-thump-thump noise filtered into his hearing. Jaskier had his heart back.

“Jaskier, your heart-” he started, only to be cut off.

“One day of the year, I get to be me! And we can’t waste a moment, dear Geralt! Get dressed, there’s so much to do!” Geralt blinked owlishly, slowly shutting the door on the other. This had been mentioned, but seeing the other man full of life was something entirely different.

Walking out to see Jaskier rocking on his feet, Geralt found he was allowing himself to get pulled by the other through a breakfast that had actual flavor. Then, came leaving the inn for the festival itself outside.

In all his years, Geralt hadn’t expected to be walking a market fair with a bard to celebrate Midsummer. He was wary, knowing the town’s secret dealings, but they seemed smart enough to not want to disturb a Witcher. Jaskier, meanwhile, was probably the happiest person on the continent. Geralt stole glances when he could, wanting to drink in the sheer joy radiating off the other. His eyes, now that they had the spark of life, were shining as he flitted about. He was a bird, a butterfly, darting here and there to take it all in. Geralt followed, something warm settling in his chest he didn’t want to look too hard at.

Come lunch, Jaskier had a market-wallet full of different foods. He dragged Geralt only a little ways into the woods, away from the crowds to enjoy the goodies he had bought for himself. Or, not just for himself, as Geralt found him shoving candy, and a particularly delicious-smelling apple, and a hundred other things he could barely keep track of as they sat in the grass in the sunshine. He even found himself smiling a little, the sheer force of Jaskier’s emotions overwhelming him.

“You do have to be careful though, once night falls. That is when Rhandon takes their sacrifice for the year, but for now we just have to enjoy the sunshine! Do try the apple, dear, it’s amazing! Oh and I got a particularly nice honey from the gent who keeps bees two towns over, you just have to have some!” Geralt noted a sour note as Jaskier talked. His speech was pressed, and he couldn’t keep himself still. Even as they ate, he was talking, or moving his hands, or simply vibrating.

It reminded Geralt of coming down from a particularly nasty batch of potions, filled with energy he had no way to properly express or release. But, considering this seemed to be the one day of the year Jaskier could feel anything, he tried not to hold it against the bard. It was honestly somewhat nice, to be spoken to as if he was a friend, not just an outcast here for a job then leaving again.

So he ate, interjecting at points it seemed polite to but letting Jaskier hold most of the conversation. Geralt wasn’t particularly known for his speaking, and the bard didn’t seem to mind. They spent some time there, Jaskier’s mind jumping from subject to subject at a dizzying pace until the sun’s fading light began to paint the sky orange and pink. At this point Jaskier perked up, smiling devilishly as he turned to Geralt.

“I have to show you something.”

It took only a moment to clean up the remnants of their picnic, and Jaskier was off dragging Geralt to Meitele-knows-where. Geralt found himself happy to follow for once, Jaskier’s good mood rubbing off on him along with a good meal and fine weather.

To the south of the town, on a grassy knoll, the scent of smoke and flowers filled the air. A large bonfire was crackling, and judging by the sheer amount of wood in the pyre it would burn until sunrise. Geralt let himself be pulled to where villagers were standing and gossiping, being given odd looks by some. Then again, that was nothing new for Geralt.

Judging from the flushed faces and the smells in the air, there had been dancing around the fire. And it took that realization to stare at Jaskier in shock as he smiled, the cat who got the cream. “Join me Geralt! I haven’t done this in ages!”

“I’ve never done this!” Geralt protested, but it fell on deaf ears.

As the band struck up another tune, the villagers around the bonfire formed a circle. Jaskier grabbed at Geralt’s hand, grin positively devilish. “Join the dance! This one is quite simple!” Before Geralt could even protest, he was being pulled into the circle, Jaskier’s hand warm in his. It felt nice, and Geralt tried to crush the warm feeling that had been building in his chest since dawn.He failed, abysmally, at following the dance. Even though it was called. And had two steps. But looking at Jaskier's smiling face in the evening glow, eyes reflecting the light of the fire, Geralt realized he didn’t care. He was smiling too. The warmth in his chest had grown since the morning, and looking at Jaskier, the realization hit him like a kikimora.

_ He was falling for him. _

The dance ended, Jaskier so much closer than at the start, and Geralt’s head spun from the realization. Jaskier looked around for a moment, chest heaving from the exertion. It took all of Geralt’s training not to look. 

He made an excuse that sounded pathetic and walked off to gather himself. Somehow, he had fallen for someone he knew for a week and only truly knew for a day. Sitting on a low wall, he tried to center himself, calm down. Witchers weren’t supposed to feel, that is what he had been trained. But Geralt knew that was wrong, even if sometimes he wished it was true. He buried his emotions, avoided them like victims of plague, but he now knew what an existence of no emotions was.

And the sight of it scared him. The pain of rejection always stung, to be treated as some monster stuck halfway between man and beast. But this warm feeling in his chest, it soothed that ache. It felt genuinely nice to be in Jaskier’s company, to be treated as an equal by someone who saw him as just another man. A man with powers, and strength, but a man nonetheless. Even as he tried to regain control he could feel the small smile quirking his lips, and clenched his fists.

Damn what the future held, he would focus on this feeling and see what he could do to help Jaskier.

Looking around, Geralt noted an odd stillness had come to the festivities. Some of the villagers glanced at him warily, and with a lurch it began to click into place. Looking around, he couldn’t spot Jaskier in the crowd, and looking back, he noticed it was mostly children and the elderly left by the bonfire. The alderman and the other people of note in the town were nowhere to be found.  _ And neither was Jaskier. _

There, at the edge of his hearing, nearly drowned out by the crowd, was a muffled shout and the sounds of a struggle. The noise was distant, and with a start Geralt pinpointed it as somewhere between himself and Rhandon’s altar.

d taken him. Crashing through the undergrowth, he skulled a bottle of Cat potion. As he blinked, his eyesight grew sharper, showing him what the dark tried to hide in the woods. He could hear a struggle about half a mile ahead, hushed voices he couldn’t make out over the sound of his own heart in his ears. His fingertips ached where his nails turned to talons, and he regretted he had left his swords in the inn. 

Dagger in hand, his body was straining from the adrenaline as he burst into the clearing with the stone circle. His stomach lurched and roiled, pain igniting as he was hit with the full force of the potions. The townsfolk, carrying torches, turned to look at him, raising a cry of alarm. He couldn’t hear the words of their shouts, only the sounds as he looked for Jaskier among the throng of people.

A burlier man tried to come forward and stop Geralt, who growled at him. Swinging the dagger, the man screamed and collapsed as it hit true. Some townsfolk, the wiser or more cowardly ones, fled the scene. The stench of blood was heavy in the air as the wind kicked up, and Geralt located Jaskier in the remaining crowd.

Making eye contact, the bard’s eyes were blown wide with fear as he struggled against his captors, a rag tied around his mouth to muffle his cries. Tears streamed down his face from fear.

More of the better fighters among the townsfolk attempted to stand against him, but a tavern brawl was nothing compared to the training a Witcher went through. He didn’t bother holding back from killing blows, as long as those who stood against him did not stand again.

The rest of the townspeople, valuing their own lives more than seeing the ritual through, fled. It left just Jaskier, Geralt, and the Alderman in the clearing. Geralt locked gazes with the Alderman, and he could smell the desperation on the other. The Alderman attempted to jut his chin out and stand strong as the breeze kicked up.

Rhandon appeared, taking in the scene as they looked at Jaskier’s tear-stained face, a slight frown on their lips. The Alderman turned from Geralt, gesturing to Jaskier as Jaskier pulled at the gag blocking his mouth.

“Take him again! You were satisfied with just his heart! We’re a small village, we cannot afford to lose more people to satisfy you!” The Alderman pleaded, and Geralt stared in shock. It wasn’t an isolated incident that had caused Jaskier to lose his heart. This was a town with a secret. Geralt has heard of these towns before, ones where they made pacts and deals in order to prosper. But it was never without loss, and the alderman had taken the easy way out. Why sacrifice one of their own, when the travelling bard none would miss passed just as well? 

“You already took my family! We have nothing else to offer you!” The Alderman continued to plead, at Rhandon’s pensive face. They looked to Jaskier as his shaking hands ripped at the knot.

Jaskier finally ripped the gag free. “You used me! Every year, I would wonder why I came back here! I remember now! Every year, every  _ fucking year _ for the past thirty years, you robbed me! You cursed me, you bound me, made sure I would come back every year to satisfy this fucking deal! I lost my  _ life _ because of you!”

The Alderman turned to Jaskier, eyes wild. “You lived! You never had to feel loss! I lost my family to this demon, and I bear that pain everyday! You will never understand, you were just fine without your heart!”

“That wasn’t fucking living!” Jaskier snapped back, stalking forward. “You coerced me with that spell every year, to make sure I was ‘willing’ to give myself up again! I was a prisoner in my own mind!” Jaskier pulled his dagger again, stabbing wildly as he jumped on the Alderman.

It was bloody, quick work as Jaskier’s overflowing emotions took control of his actions. Geralt sheathed his dagger as he approached Jaskier, still attacking a clearly-dead Alderman. Screams of impotent rage rang through the clearing, Rhandon watching with an unreadable expression as Jaskier let loose thirty years of pain and anguish he had never been allowed to fully know.

Geralt’s Witcher instincts warned him Jaskier was unpredictable, dangerous even for him as he knelt next to the other. “Jaskier-” he called softly, grabbing the bard’s wrist and stilling him from his brutal assault. With a final cry, Jaskier plunged the dagger in the Alderman’s bloody chest and collapsed. A puppet whose strings had finally been cut loose. He shook, sobbing as Geralt pulled him into a gentle embrace.

Holding Jaskier to his chest, Geralt looked at Rhandon, who watched from their circle. “You will not take his heart again, I swear it.” Geralt growled. At that, Rhandon’s expression grew the smallest fraction softer, as they took in the macabre scene of humanity before them.

“I no longer wish it. For thirty years, I cherished it, but it was not mine to take. I had been led to believe this is what he wanted too. For this year, Witcher, I will suffice for the Alderman’s spirit.”

“And the next year?”

“That, dear Witcher, will no longer be your concern. The village will decide whether they can pay my price, but no longer will they use an outsider. They will feel the pain of their choice, either way they choose.” Rhandon glanced to the sobbing, bloodied man in Geralt’s arms. “Jaskier-”, they began, before pausing.

“Jaskier, I have committed a great injustice. I attempted to keep what was not mine to possess, and for that, I am truly sorry. I hope you will lead the life you wish to live now.” Jaskier continued to cry, and Geralt awkwardly ran a comforting, bloody hand through his hair. After a time, he calmed, and Geralt felt it would be better if they left.

Looking down at the Alderman’s dead body, Geralt knew what he needed to do. Helping Jaskier to stand, he turned the bard away from the gory scene, instructing him to not look back. Unceremoniously, he dragged the Alderman’s corpse into the stone circle, to be dealt with by Rhandon as they wished.

Turning back to Jaskier, he put a comforting hand on the bard’s shoulder and led him away. The walk back to town was slow, Geralt nursing some injuries and Jaskier not faring much better.

Swaying, Geralt dropped to his knees a few times, hands barely catching himself from falling face-first into the dirt. He wretched, body heaving as the potions wracked his nerves. Now that the situation had been dealt with, the feeling of poison with no antidote was making itself known.

He knew, intellectually, he was not going to die from the doses he took. But physically, he felt as though he was moments from being dumped in a shallow grave. He shuddered and coughed as his muscles randomly spasmed, feeling Jaskier rub a slow circle on his back.

Supporting each other as the rays of dawn broke, the townspeople were wise enough to not impede Geralt and Jaskier as they limped to the inn. Wrung out, Jaskier grabbed his lute and travelling pack, gingerly making his way outside to where Geralt was waiting on Roach.

The Witcher’s eyes were fading from black, and he nodded as Jaskier shot him a wan smile. Stretching out a hand, Geralt helped haul Jaskier onto the horse, as they rode off into the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, tell me in the comments! And if you love the art, do tell the artist! :D


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